


Field Research [Inktober 2019]

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fictober 2019, Inktober 2019, Warden as a Companion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-15 23:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21026531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A step slightly to the left of a larger AU: Elissa Cousland as a companion during the events of Inquisition. A change of scenery; a different location each day.





	1. Ring [The Hinterlands]

**Author's Note:**

> This is largely self-indulgent (as most of my work is, let's be honest). Most of my main AU (which, at the time of posting this, has yet to be posted) takes place at Skyhold, and I needed a change of scenery desperately. So this year, we're trekking all over Thedas for Inktober!

Time changes everything.

She remembers Redcliffe differently; there are more demons, but less undead this time. In the surrounding Hinterlands, villages have cropped up in places she remembers as barren and lifeless. Eamon is no longer the Arl. This is perhaps the only endearing thing about it.

In the past two weeks, Elissa has followed Genevieve up cliffs, down hills, through ruined castles, into groups of red Templars and rebel mages. It is beginning to wear. The entire area basks in bleary autumn sunlight, sleepy and surreal. There are too many bears, too many questionable creatures and strange, out-of-the-way places filled with deep mysteries. They could be here for weeks and only scratch the surface.

Just today they’ve dealt with various aggressive wildlife, two Envy demons, and a small bandit patrol. By midday, Elissa has half a mind to ride into Redcliffe herself and demand Teagan do something about any of it. He hasn’t actively sought to usurp the throne of Ferelden (and is, therefore, already better at his job than his brother), but he must be doing something wrong if they can’t go an hour without finding something that wants to kill them.

She’s so preoccupied with this thought that she isn’t really paying attention to where the Inquisitor wanders. When she looks up, Genevieve is three steps from walking directly into a ring of stones.

“Inquisitor!” she calls and she barely resists the urge to reach for her arm, to stop her where she stands.

It turns out that she doesn’t need to because Genevieve halts immediately. “What is it?”

Elissa moves to stand next to her, pointing at the edge of the ring. There is a clear line; outside of the ring, the grass is still vibrant green despite the season. Inside, it’s gone yellow and dry; a stand of what might have been Crystal Grace is wilted near the middle, and directly in the center is a stone with a flat top.

“That isn’t natural,” she says, carefully scanning their surroundings.

“Shouldn’t we go see what’s happening? What if it’s a demon?” Genevieve flexes her left hand, a flare of green as the Anchor stirs to life.

“Then it isn’t bothering anyone. Send someone back to deal with it.”

Genevieve looks scandalized at the prospect of delegating something even as small as this to someone else.

“You don’t have to chase down every demon in Thedas personally,” Elissa continues, though she knows that she would likely do the same (and has) in Genevieve’s position. “If you want to get to that final rift before nightfall, we’d best keep going anyway.”

Genevieve looks over her shoulder, perhaps to gauge the reaction of her other companions. She looks like she wants to charge into the circle of stones regardless, but she shuffles for a moment before turning away.

It feels a bit selfish considering how often Elissa has accidentally disturbed entire hordes of Darkspawn, revenants, or even dragons (on one memorable occasion), but her bad knee is already starting to give out and she is, perhaps, too old for this.

From the little she knows of Genevieve, it’s likely that they’ll be back tomorrow anyway.


	2. Mindless [The Storm Coast]

It’s been storming for days and Genevieve is the only one having fun.

The Storm Coast lives up to its name at the end of summer when the Waking Sea turns choppy and dark. The driving rain soaks right through them all, but Elissa expected nothing less. She remembers Highever in the late summer, sudden rainstorms that flooded streets and turned everything to mud.

Castle Cousland is a day’s journey to the east. She imagines she can just make out the rocky cliffs of her home if she squints against the lashing rain.

It’s only wishful thinking, perhaps. She feels tethered; the knowledge that home is just out of reach makes every action that much more unbearable. Elfroot is the only thing keeping her from complaining as much as Varric is. If she wasn’t sworn to the Inquisition’s service, if she found it a bit easier to cast off her bonds of duty, she would ride out in the middle of the night.

But she can’t, because that isn’t the right thing to do. One day, perhaps the world won’t need to be saved anymore and she will be able to rest. For now, her moral compass has a suspiciously familiar voice.

One of the many reasons that they’ve come here are reports of Darkspawn on the surface. Without a Blight, there is no organization to the horde – they are mindless, wandering without direction or purpose. It’s easy to cut them down, find the holes they crawl out of and block them off.

For her, this is only tedious work; necessary, but it presents no challenge. For Genevieve, it is thrilling, but not in the sense that killing is exciting.

Here, where it is constantly storming, where there are frequent cracks of thunder and lightning strikes, Genevieve is thriving. It’s easier to reach for the storm swirling under her skin when it’s all around her; here, she isn’t just generating lightning. She’s _directing _it. The smell of burning flesh is sickening, but Genevieve laughs at each peal of thunder, exalts in each strike she directs to the earth.

It’s as terrifying as it is beautiful. Elissa can hardly complain about the damp when Genevieve is happier than she’s been in weeks.


	3. Bait [The Western Approach]

“We’re going to do _what?”_

Genevieve can’t even look ashamed about her current plan. “We’re going to draw the dragon out.”

Elissa looks like she might strangle her if given the chance, but Gen has long since stopped worrying about it. Now, goading Elissa has become an amusing way to pass the time. Her face filters through several different frustrated emotions before she settles, finally, on strained patience.

“Inquisitor—“

“Genevieve.”

The sound Elissa makes is suspiciously close to a growl. “_Genevieve._ I know that I can’t stop you if you choose to bait a High Dragon-” – through clenched teeth now, and Genevieve is trying her very best not to smile – “- but I’d like you to reconsider what you’re doing.”

“I’m aware of what I’m doing. This dragon is causing no small manner of grief to our supply lines, and we can’t hold Griffon Wing Keep if it doesn’t stop.”

Elissa clenches her jaw. “Yes, I understand how important that is, but I don’t see why you should be dealing with it personally.”

It’s Genevieve’s turn to sigh. “You should know by now that I’m not going to send anyone else to fight a _dragon_, of all things. We are more than capable of dealing with it.”

Elissa looks like she might argue.

“I can bring someone else if you aren’t up for it.” Genevieve almost feels guilty, _almost_, because she knows exactly how Elissa will respond to this perceived slight to her ability.

“Absolutely not,” she snaps, eyes flashing. “I just think it’s foolish to risk your life so carelessly when you are the only one who—“

Genevieve scoffs, stands and dusts her hands off on her pants. “_Please_. You know that if anything happens to me, Cassandra’s going to be looking to you to step up,” she says, and reaches for Elissa’s shoulder, a brief squeeze. “Then you can make all the decisions about who does and doesn’t fight dragons. Would that make you feel better?”

Elissa’s eyes are narrowed, an angry sidelong glance, shoulders tight. “No,” she grits out. “It would not. See that nothing happens to you.” _Or I’ll bring you back and strangle you myself_. Gen gives her what she hopes is an infuriating grin and moves past, ready to set the bait that will bring the Abyssal High Dragon down upon them.

–

It doesn’t take long for the beast to show and Elissa derives a certain dim satisfaction from watching Gen’s eyes grow wide as it gets closer. The gusts created by the flapping of its wings has them all covering their eyes, feet struggling to find purchase in the sand.

When the dragon finally lands on the crumbling ruin before them, it lets loose a staggering call that shakes Genevieve down to her bones.

“This was a bad idea!” she calls to Elissa in the ringing silence that follows.

Elissa throws her a look. “_Now_ you listen to me?” Whatever Genevieve’s reply, it is lost to her as she avoids a sweeping claw and large, snapping teeth.


	4. Freeze [Emprise du Lion]

It is cold enough in Emprise du Lion that even the snoufleurs are huddled together for warmth. The first time Elissa sees one of the creatures, she stops dead and tilts her head to the side, eyes wide in either alarm or wonder (perhaps both; Gen can’t help but smile thinking of it).

“Blue nugs,” she mutters, and Gen lets out a peal of laughter so loud and sudden that the snoufleur in question lopes away to join the rest of its herd.

The Emprise has treated them as well as might be expected, considering most of it is frozen solid. That is the least of their problems, as the place is riddled with red Templars and their abominations as well as the regular murderous wildlife. Night comes on with deadly speed, which is how they find themselves camped next to a frozen lake instead of at one of the Inquisition’s established camps.

There is a large group of red Templars between their current position and their nearest camp, and both moons are obscured behind thick clouds; they’d have to use magelights to find their way, and that would draw their enemies right to them.

So they find a clear space on the bank of the lake instead. Dorian makes them a small campfire in the shadow of a tall cliff, mostly obscured from view. Genevieve uses what heat she can produce to clear away the snow, making room for Elissa and Varric to put up their tents (or rather, for Elissa to put them up while Varric issues a steady stream of complaints about the cold, the snow, and the outdoors in general).

After a small squabble over meal arrangements (wherein Elissa refuses to eat ‘blue nug’), they retire to their respective covers; Gen and Elissa are sharing one tent while Dorian and Varric will take the other. With a mage in each tent, no one will freeze. 

It’s a small tent, besides; Elissa is hardier than most, curled under a thin blanket and her fur-lined cloak, but she still gravitates toward Genevieve with her magical warmth. They aren’t quite sharing a bedroll, but it’s a close thing in the small space.

It takes about a half-hour for Gen to finally give up, huff a sigh, and scoot closer. “It’ll be easier if we use the same blanket.”

Elissa opens one eye, obviously not sleeping. The tip of her nose is red with cold, and she shivers slightly under her layers. “I’ve fine, Genevieve. Go to sleep.”

“You’ll freeze,” Gen hisses. “Stop being stubborn for once and get over here.”

There is a half-beat of silence, and then Elissa heaves an impatient sigh and scoots closer, until they are huddled, barely-touching, in the middle of the tent. Elissa quickly arranges her blankets and her heavy cloak to lay over both of them. They face each other with barely any space between them, Gen’s knees pressed against Elissa’s shins and their elbows lingering close together.

But it is better like this. Gen turns up the heat just a bit, radiating enough to extend the warmth across the space until Elissa is enveloped in it as well. Elissa relaxes by degrees, moving just a bit closer, close enough that Gen can almost make out the blue-green of her eyes in the darkness.

“There,” she mutters, and Elissa says something under her breath that Gen doesn’t catch, doesn’t care to ask about. She watches her for a moment, a vague shape shifting in the darkness.

“I—thank you,” Genevieve says after a moment; Elissa’s eyes haven’t closed, but now they tilt up, focused on Gen’s face. “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

Elissa snorts. “It seems like the more I don’t ask for things, the more they tend to happen to me,” she whispers, and her voice has an odd quality that Gen can’t quite identify. “It’ll be all right in the end.”

Gen smiles, though she knows that Elissa can’t see it. “Don’t be so accommodating. I know you’d rather be retired at home with you servants and piles of furs.”

Elissa laughs, a soft sound that Gen rarely hears. “You really think so? I don’t think you know me at all. I would get terribly bored if I didn’t have to save the world.”

“Doubtful. You wouldn’t be complaining about your aching joints! Imagine.”

“I don’t complain _all_ the time!” Elissa makes an indignant sound. “Some of us haven’t lived in a comfortable tower our entire lives!” She’s smiling; Gen can hear it in her voice. They’ve become more comfortable teasing each other these past weeks.

“You’re the daughter of a Teyrn!” Gen is laughing, trying to stifle her snickers in the quiet, trying not to draw attention.

“And the Hero of Ferelden!”

Gen pauses, still chuckling, and she desperately wishes she could see Elissa’s face right now. Elissa has stalwartly refused to accept that title; in the time she’s known her, she’s heard the stream of excuses over and over again (“_I didn’t end the Blight. I don’t deserve it. Not me._”), but this is perhaps the first time Elissa has owned up to the title, or used it herself in any capacity.

“Yes,” Gen says, serious. “Yes, you are.”

Elissa straightens and all of her relaxed muscles tight and hard again. Gen is close enough to feel the small tremble that runs through her, nothing to do with the cold. She doesn’t move away, but her laughter has died. Gen reaches out, hand shaking, and brushes Elissa’s shoulder in something she hopes is a comforting gesture.

Gen isn’t sure that she sleeps and isn’t sure that Elissa does, either. She keeps them both warm through the night, no more speaking, only the occasional soft snuffling breath as they doze. It gets easier to relax with Elissa so close. Though she is still hyperaware of everywhere they touch and don’t-quite-touch under the blankets, she finds herself relaxing until she is no longer coiled, no longer shrinking away.


	5. Build [The Storm Coast (Redux)]

The Darkspawn problem on the Coast hasn’t gotten better; indeed, it seems that there are more of the creatures on the surface than there have been in years, and each time they find a new group of them roaming, Genevieve watches Elissa’s grip get a little tighter on the hilt of her sword and the line between her eyes get that much deeper.

This many darkspawn are apparently a problem, whether they are responding to Corypheus’s call or not.

They find the entrance to the first passage easy enough. Gen supervises the placement of sturdy wooden planks over the hole, shoring it up against any future incursion.

The moment she turns around, Elissa is giving her one of those _looks_. “… that’s it?”

“Yes?”

Elissa gives her a thoroughly unimpressed look. Over the past months, they’ve grown closer; it’s easy to forget that she was, at first, surly and completely unapproachable. “You’re going to need to build something sturdier than that.”

“What would you suggest?”

“Metal, at the very least. No matter what you put there, it’s only going to slow them down.” Elissa’s face is carefully blank, expressionless, and Genevieve worries; it creeps up under her ribs and takes her breath for a moment.

“Is there nothing we can do to keep them away permanently?” She draws close, whispering now.

Elissa shrugs one shoulder, the worn, spiked pauldron of her Warden armor bobbing almost comically with the motion. “Kill whatever is calling them to the surface,” she mutters. Her gaze is fixed somewhere beyond Genevieve; though she’s looking at her, she isn’t _seeing_ her.

Genevieve is sometimes struck with the urge to wrap her arms around her companions, a solitary comfort that she doesn’t know how to provide otherwise. For the most part, she stifles these urges. In this moment, with Elissa so incredibly changed before her eyes, she finds it more difficult than ever.

It’s a very close thing. “I’ll see if I can’t get something made. Iron bars, perhaps.” She leaves the last of Elissa’s concerns unanswered because it seems foolish to reaffirm aloud the manta she’s been repeating to herself since Haven. She _will_ kill Corypheus or she will die trying.


	6. Husky [The Fallow Mire]

Genevieve was foolish to think they would never return to the Fallow Mire. Of course there would be some issue with their outposts, something to put right. As much as she’d like to delegate, she is unable to push this duty off on anyone else; if she isn’t willing to slog through a swamp filled with undead creatures, why should she order anyone else to?

She thinks, perhaps, that is something Elissa could admire. She’s been thinking a lot lately about the types of things Elissa might admire.

Despite banishing most of the undead last time they were here, the problem is not yet solved, or there are more dead than anticipated. Either way, Elissa curses quietly when they have to wade through water where the path is covered because the sucking, wet sounds of their footsteps are accompanied by the hollow rattle of bones and the creak of leathery flesh.

Gen has to be careful with her lightning because they are surrounded by water, covered in it – it would take a single careless mistake, one misplaced flick of her staff to send lightning arcing through friend rather than foe. This, more than anything else, is why she dislikes this place.

She is so focused on directing her lightning strikes appropriately that she doesn’t hear the scrape of metal behind her, doesn’t realize she’s been flanked until she feels a sharp, throbbing heat draw across her shoulder. Too close to her neck for comfort, too close to her _skin_. The barrier she throws up only knocks the creature back, and she abandons her cast to turn towards her attacker.

Even with her shoulder burning, each motion of her arm heavy and uncoordinated, she brings the heavy end of her staff around – the hollow _thunk_ it makes when it collides with the corpse’s head is entirely too satisfying.

But it unbalances her, and only slows the creature down for a moment. She flounders for a moment, reaches for the power of the Anchor—but the next second, the creature before her slumps to the side, nearly cleaved in half by a single, powerful swing from Elissa’s sword.

“Thanks,” she says, and she doesn’t recognize the sound of her voice, husky and hoarse. The cool drizzle of the rain is accompanied by something warmer near her shoulder, near the source of a strangely numb burning sensation.

Before she can register what’s happening, Elissa is cursing in her general direction and pulling aside the ropes that make up the complicated Qunari armor Gen has taken to wearing. Varric is suddenly at her side, pushing a healing potion into her good hand. She drinks it absently, feeling it spread through her slowly – and the pain is gone, but the bleeding is not.

“Do you remember me telling you this ‘armor’ was a bad idea?” Elissa mutters at her shoulder, pressing at the wound with a strip of cloth – from where, Gen isn’t sure.

“I like it. I’m alive.” Genevieve feels (and sounds) a bit better now, her head clearer.

“No thanks to this rigging.” Elissa bears down on the wound, one hand resting against the flat of Genevieve’s collarbone while the other works to stop the bleeding, a pressure that Gen can’t even feel. She _can_ feel one of the edges of Elissa’s armor digging into her back, her leather glove on bare skin, and at the moment she isn’t as worried about the blood as she should be.

“It’s… I like the ropes,” Gen says, grunting as Elissa leans into her.

“You need more protection,” Elissa grumbles, though they’ve had this conversation at least once every few days for the last fortnight. The pressure is gone suddenly, and Elissa takes a full two steps back. “That’s the best I can do. We’ll need to get you back to a camp before we go any further.”

\--

The wound is not very deep, and it would only really be a problem if they didn’t have a healer on hand. Thankfully, the Inquisition’s presence in the Mire makes it easy to find one, and before an hour has passed, the skin and muscle have knit back together as if there was never a wound to begin with.

By the time that this is finished, it’s started raining; the deluge makes it difficult to see and wading through swamps (and the accompanying undead) would be unwise. Gen decides that they should stay at least until the storm passes, which is more for the comfort of her companions than her own.

“I’m sorry,” Elissa says as they wait out the storm in one of the large, permanent tents. “I should have been there – and your armor is your concern. I only—“

“I know,” Genevieve says, and gives her a small smile. “I’ll take it under advisement. And it’s my own fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Elissa looks distinctly uncomfortable, as though the inability to take the blame is somehow robbing her of something important. “I’ll be there next time,” she says, and won’t look at Genevieve again.


End file.
